The reasons of a fool
by The Make-Out Ninja
Summary: This is a story about amorality. About misjudging. About doing all the wrong things and about being manipulated. Dark Brotherhood quest line and Main Quest/Oblivion Gates quest lines. Please enjoy and review.


**Prologue, part I.** _a story under a peaceful sea of sky_

Have you ever sat hopeless in a room, a mere witness to the end of one you love? Have you ever gripped your husband's hand and pleaded, to please, please save her, she is our daughter; as close as you'll ever have to a child of your own, don't let them do this, please, she just made a mistake. Have you ever wondered where everything went wrong?

_•›even though it does not look like that‹•_

Dalavesa Salvani had hair made of feathers and eyes made of blood. She was a mist of fiery darkness, with fire on her head and fire in her eyes and fire in her soul. Her skin was made of smoke. And her face was a constant mask of sadness because Dalavesa Salvani had a problem and she couldn't have children. She learned that over the course of a century of marriage.

Her husband owned the biggest farm she had ever the knowledge of; peacefully staying on the surrounding of Ebonheart, just conveniently next to Vivec, under a peaceful sea of sky. He was a conservative and believed in slavery as an active part of modern society. So when he bought a group of Bosmers to work on the land it was perfectly normal. Dalavesa's eyes observed from the window through a mask of sadness. There were two males and one female, all pure wood elves, all with hated instead of eyes all with claws for hands. It was soon discovered that one of them carried a child within herself, it was good news. The child was born soon after, revealing herself as a little girl. Her name was Alawen. One night she cried too much and the slave-master slapped her mouth shut, her mother attacked him. She was beaten to death; he lost his job on the account of unnecessary brutality and damage of propriety. All this happened in seven months. And in the end there was a child without a woman to be her mother and a woman without a child to be mother of.

In the face of the gods it was unfortunate turn of events.

For Dalavesa it was fate. Because her eyes were full of water and cleansed of blood when she explained her husband the child had no parents, because her skin was the colour of snow without smoke when she begged him to raise her as her own, because there was _still_ fire in her soul when she defended her position knowing it refused calling on his morality. A child could not – would not! – be left alone: be it high cast or slave born. By the gods, they were conservatives and there were principles to be preserved. That had been enough to convince him.

Yet Alawen was not his daughter and not _hers_ as well. That he _did_ make crystal clear.

It was probably this decision that marked her as who she would turn out to be. It _was_, if you believed in destiny. She was raised as any bastard in a righteous family ought to be raised: hidden from unnecessary sight. She could not leave their land and their propriety, she could not receive visits and she wouldn't attend any social events even if in her – god, _theirs_ – house. That had its implications, and her education was left in the care of Dalavesa. At first her only worries resided in the other kids growing in the farm, slave born as her child; they wouldn't play with Alawen. They had seen her mother, they had seen her birth and it was as for a fact she was just like them. The same scum. So why did she get the better clothes, why was she fed when they starved, why did she sleep on a feather bed? Casted-out. By both sides of the coin. The irony did run deep indeed.

This was more of a problem for Dalavesa than it ever was for Alawen though. She didn't worry about that, what she really liked was running through green and climbing trough brown, deep in the lands that surrounded the Salvani's mansion. It was the call of her blood, the call for the woods, the call of her nature. When she grew up she started to have serious education from her mother, she learned how to read and write and she would steal glimpses of pages from the library's books. It was a thing she enjoyed to do too much for Dalavesa's care.

Guilt.

Because Mrs. Salvani knew that her child's true mother was brutally killed and she also explained to the girl her mother had died from a disease. It was not the lie that bothered her mind, that had been a _white _lie, she could forgive herself for that, she cared. But it was the guilt of knowing that Alawen's mother had been murdered, beaten to death, there, on their courtyard. And that feeling consumed her so, and it was enough for one of them to feel it, her child would not carry it, not if she could avoid it. She prohibit herself and those few in touch with Alawen to talk about murder, it was a disgusting thought. She barely spoke about death, about loosing someone you care, about morals and laws, about what was right and wrong. All books mentioning the mere suggestion of it were taken out and burned. Needless to say, it was not necessary to believe in fate, to believe that all things are destined upon birth, to see how this decision marked her as she would turn out to be. For she had everything, every object of valour and it spoiled her; she knew everything about the world, about its costumes, people and traditions except that it was rotten and it spoiled her; for she knew how to run and climb and talk and tell better than anyone her age but she did not know how to _judge_.

Her features changed when she reached adulthood. Her head was mixture of innocence and curiousness and she looked much younger than her true age. It was shaped like a chestnut, though her chin was more square than pointy. She had two big eyes that reflected the cloudless sky and her skin was a field of wheat with hints of gold in two thin lips. Her nose was small and pointy and too much away from her mouth and was shadowed by stripes of light brown and blond hair, the colour of chocolate and the sun. Her ears were long like all elves and she was small, Bosmer-like little. But she had good legs and trained muscles and she was fast, so unbelievable quick she surpassed the inhabitants of the forest itself.

It saddened Dalavesa that she did not turn out to be as beautiful as she was in her age, though where she was the moon Alawen was the sun, full of light and colour. Yet she could not be called ugly either, there was certain attractiveness on her features, if not from the energy that irradiated from them. It was funny how she preferred to eat all things meat than anything else, true she hadn't been raised by Bosmer's traditions, and she would use nature-derivate utensils, but there were some things craved in blood and she remained a lot wilder than her step-mother was bound to like.

But all did go well until that day arrived. It started with a discussion about a stupid thing. It ended with Alawen running away.

_•›,everything __is logical ‹•_

And now she was imprisoned there, in a room reeking of lies, her hand desperately clinging to her husband's sleeve; and it did not matter that Dalavesa was over a century old because in that room she was no more than a child.

" … to the direct request Alleh Hu Salvani for the re-trial of Alawen Y'ffre, today is the seventh of Hearthfire. The accused as been proven guilty of murder, and sentenced to death; her crime was a most serious one indeed. But by the powers conceded to me by name, birth and blood and after successful negotiations with the various factions involved, our punishment may change. Speak to me, Alleh of the Salvani's house, and tell me of your wishes." Their craving for blood scared Dalavesa and she wept silently on her seat. Her husband frowned. "I understand that a complete absolution for her crime is not an acceptable request." The lord showed what looked like the beginning of a smile; he had marble for teeth and he smirked like a fox. "You understand, sir, that her crime was a most serious one. Even your _generous_ offers cannot change that. I'm deeply sorry for your _loss_ yet I cannot…" Alleh waved the rest of the sentence away, watching the words dispersing trough the air as if they were made of smoke. "I understand."

He did understand. When his courier first informed him that his adopted daughter had been found and imprisoned he immediately arranged a meeting with those responsible for her care and safety, to talk. He did try, to his hardest, to convince himself he was doing that for Dalavesa but he could not be fooled – it was as much for himself and for Alawen too. He, admittedly, had _feelings_ for her. She was his daughter, the one and only, his only heir. Of course, there were limitations; she was one of those tree-worshipers one of those lesser races and could not be publicly related to his name, it would taint the very liquid in his veins. He believed that many years ago, since he first held her, like feathers, on his arms. Somehow that one belief was faltering him now.

He had been taken to the cell where the monster slept. It pitied to see how much she had grown up without him; for there she was beneath a sky made of stone with walls closing on her, all around, all fours and yet she looked so peacefully still with her eyes closed between waking and sleeping. One of the guards spat to the ground. "Are you done?"

He did understand, because in a lifetime you learn about lives and about lords and about crimes and about money, and cases like this are to be solved with the power of coins and not of words or mercy or forgiveness. So he looked at his face, and it seemed so cruel so utterly despicable that he felt sick, the sickest one can feel about humanity and the lacking of so.

But in the end he did pay for her crimes and she was partially forgiven.

Well, at least she wasn't going to die.

_•›,so what about you… ‹•_

Dalavesa was imprisoned in her own room. She couldn't get out of her house. Or, to be more precise, she could do so physically, but she was afraid of destroying her mind by doing so. She was gone. Her only daughter and she was _gone_. She was born and raised and educated and lived in Morrowind for so so so so long, that no one (not them!) had the right to ban her from there. Her own child an outlaw, deported in that ship full of murderers and thieves and…

She was out there, in the world outside her house, and the mere fact of that was killing her so she…

So she did…

Her dark nose inhaled deeply and she noticed the chair in the middle of her room. Had she putted it there? Why did she do that? It had no symmetry no sense of style, it didn't look good; then why did it felt right where it was?, why wasn't she moving it away from there? It was then that she noticed she hadn't closed the window and the wind blew in and something fell over the chair.

Rope.

There was rope on top of the chair and there was rope on the ceiling, and there was a beautiful lace in between.

Oh, so it was because of that she had putted it there.

Dalavesa was imprisoned in her own room and she wanted out of it. To the only world she knew Alawen was not. She placed her foot on the chair and the other one automatically followed. Why was she up there?, why was the chair…? It didn't matter because her hands clung to the lace of rope and she placed it like a beautiful ribbon around her neck. It hurt her skin, she had to buy a new necklace or that one would make her feel uncomfortable when she left that room. Why was she feeling like jumping forward? It was not like her to do something irresponsible like that… that was more like Alawen.

Her dark nose inhaled deeply and she noticed the smoke in the air, the smoke that followed her wherever her daughter was not, the smell of her life.

She jumped forward.

And that was how Dalavesa Salvani died.

_•› what are your reasons for murder? ‹•_


End file.
